Waking Up on Baker Street
by Decisions Are Hard
Summary: Johanna "John" Watson was never going out drinking with a stranger again, never no matter how good looking he was. It just wasn't worth it. Not with the surprise wedding, the heads in the fridge, the psychotic older brothers who are the British government, the crazy killer cab drivers, the drugs busts, and the violin playing at all hours of the night. No drink was worth this.
1. Chapter 1

_I do not own this show in anyway. I am also not British and I haven't had anyone Beta Brit-pick this story for me so please pardon any mistakes in the language and feel free to point them out to me. Now that that's out of the way please enjoy the story. _

The first thing Johanna, but please call me John, Watson noticed when she slowly groaned into wakefulness was the rhythmic pounding in her head. Her head throbbed with every beat of her heart and she groaned burying her head deeper into the pillow to escape the dull but persistent headache. As she slowly fought off the growing pain in her head her other senses began to awaken. Scent came first filling her nose with a pleasant smell that was musky, spicy, smoky, and sweet all at once. That smell was soon mixed with the odor of freshly laundered sheets and the subtle smell of stale cigarette smoke. The scent took the edge of the pain off and she breathed in deep.

The next thing she noticed was that she was warm, not uncomfortably so, but warmer than she had been the last few nights with her flats terrible secondhand blankets. She gave a pleased sigh and almost sank back into pleasant slumber. She was almost asleep again when she felt a slight pressure over her waist and moved to dislodge it. Instead the pressure intensified and she found her body pulled back into something that was pleasantly warm, very firm, surprisingly soft, and defiantly alive. She screamed as she threw herself away from the stranger feeling a silkiness she thought was the sheet move with her. She fell off the bed landing hard on her bum somehow noticing that she was wearing a pair of silky light pink and black lace pajamas through her terror.

The stranger shot up at the sound of the scream his wild dark curly hair spilling over his face as a pair of bright blazing crystal blue eyes locked onto her. His blankets hung over him like the fabric couldn't bear to be parted from such magnificence as the statue come to life on the bed. There was a look of pure confusion on his face his dark brows furrowed for a moment before all expression melted away from his face. His eyes raked her body with an intensity that made her feel naked even with the pajamas she was wearing and she blushed furiously. His eyes locked on her left hand and she lifted it to look and saw what had caught his attention. Two silver rings with a small magnifying glass etching on them, the one closest to her knuckle set with a decent sized diamond, sat innocently on her ring finger. Her jaw dropped as she realized they could only be an engagement ring and wedding band. She looked up at his ring finger and saw a silver ring probably with the same magnifying glass engraving as her set on his long pale ring finger.

What little color he had drained from his face and he threw the sheet off and was off the bed in the time it took to blink. John averted her eyes until she caught sight of the silky black pajamas he was wearing. She turned to look back at the man who looked like a cross between a marble sculpture and a madman with a trim figure that was almost unhealthy for a man of his height. He had great well defined cheekbones and a face that was almost alien in its structure. She felt plain next to the beautiful man who looked like he could have walked off right out the glossy pages of a magazine. With her dishwater blonde hair and plain features the only thing she liked about her looks was her deep blue eyes that managed to look brown at times. As if she didn't have enough self-confidence issues there was the ugly scar tissue where the bullet had cut through her shoulder which was thankfully hidden beneath the long sleeved pajamas. But he was in a word gorgeous.

He stood pacing for a few moments before turning back to her with another intense stare. It seemed to help him calm down a bit because his eyes lit up and he spoke suddenly and it was like opening floodgates. "Afghanistan or Iraq? I asked you that when we met at Bart's. I deduced that you are a former army doctor with a psychosomatic limp, a therapist, and an alcoholic brother? No not a brother you said sister after my initial deduction, easy mistake I should have known from the way Mike introduced you. I offered to split the flat share and you said we barely knew each other. You said we should get to know each other first. I agreed and we went to lunch. After that it's unclear what happened. Your name is Johanna Watson correct?"

"Yes but you can call me John everyone does and you're Sherlock Holmes?" She said the uncertainty making her voice waver. He did look like the man Mike had introduced her to and if he wasn't the same man then he was a dead ringer for him. She remembered him a bit from yesterday. From what little she could piece together she knew he was a bit of a show off but he was interesting and his deductions were amazing. She'd never met anyone who thought like him before.

Sherlock nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed his head in his hands. John hesitated for a second but got up and stumbled to the bed falling down with little grace beside him when her leg decided to give out under her. She used her good leg and her arms to pull herself up into a sitting position face flushed with embarrassment. She looked at him and found his eyes on her staring with such intensity that it set her already flushed cheeks aflame and made her feel exposed.

"You left your riding crop in the mortuary. I remember you saying that after Mike Stamford introduced us. I think I remember a cab somewhere in there too." She said sounding far away as she searched through her memories.  
>"And apparently a wedding." The man said pouting with his arms crossed over his chest. John almost giggled and she would have if the situation had not been so intensely awkward. Instead she shifted awkwardly for a second and took a moment to be thankful they were both fully clothed. She probably would have died if she had woken up naked next to a man who was practically a total stranger. Then the blood drained from her face she would have had to take her clothes off to get dressed. Someone could have seen her naked and she hadn't even put on nice underwear. Was she even wearing her own panties or were they new like the pajamas? She pulled her shirt color out just far enough to see the bra and nope. The frilly pink and black lace bra that <em>perfectly<em> matched the pajamas like they were made to go together was not one she'd ever seen before. Apparently life hated her right now.

Sherlock put his hands folded as if in prayer under his chin. "This is a quite a mystery. The only case I've been interested in lately is the serial suicides and I don't recall any recent cases that would require a fake wife to solve. If our marriage was for a case you and I would not have slept in the same bed unless we were in a hotel with a startling lack of vacancies or if we had been exposed to drugs. But neither of those is the answer if so we wouldn't be dressed in pajamas but in our street clothes." He got up and began to pace around the flat speaking at speeds John found impossible to keep up with.

"If we did just get drunk and married I doubt we would have woken up in obviously new high quality silk pajamas. Then there are the wedding rings, new but not a common set, the engraving is unique designed to fit us or at least me judging from the magnifying glass, so custom engraved if not then custom made. If we were drunk it's unlikely that we would have thought to buy them and if we did we wouldn't have bothered getting custom rings. We would have bought a cheap common set with whatever we had on hand or in our bank accounts. You've just been invalidated home from Afghanistan you wouldn't have enough money to afford a decent flat let alone those rings and I am not well off financially either as long as my brother has cut me off. So someone bought these for us. So we are dealing with someone with money enough to spare. Not just someone who could afford it either someone with whom this ridiculous plot would be beneficial. So who? Oh! Oh! Mycroft! This has his name written all over it." Sherlock said springing to his feet after he was done rambling.

"So who's Mycroft? Why does he want us to be married and what are we going to do now? I mean we could just pretend nothing happened and just be flatmates. It's obvious neither of us were in our right minds when we agreed to this. We don't have to tell anyone who doesn't need to know." John said as she looked at the man beside her for some clue as to what she should do.

"Mycroft is my older brother and he probably thinks he can use you to spy on me. As for what we should do I'm going to introduce you to Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock said standing abruptly putting on a bathrobe that he grabbed from the back of the door. "Come along you should see the rest of the flat. You are going to be living here after all and it will be exasperating if you don't know your way around."

"I need my cane." She said blushing fiercely and feeling silly as the dark haired man rolled his eyes.

"That limp is psychosomatic. It's not real." He said under his breath but loud enough that it was clear he intended for her to hear it.

"Psychosomatic or not it hurts and I need my cane." She said narrowing her eyes. "I could also use a change of clothes."  
>He pointed to the corner of the room opposite the door where her cane and a bag of clothing sat slumped against the wall. "I don't believe those are mine." He picked up her cane in both hands and twirled it around a bit before handing it to her. He picked up the bag tossing it at her lightly then he picked up a nice looking suit and a white shirt from the wardrobe and left the room. She sat in silence for a few seconds before changed into her clothes wondering just how her favorite oatmeal cable kit jumper ended up in the Sherlock's room. A knock that simultaneously managed to sound impatient and bored brought her out of that line of thinking.<p>

"Excuse the mess I've only just moved in." Sherlock said as she opened the door and looked into the strangest flat she'd ever seen.

She limped a few steps behind him taking in the eclectic mess that formed the living room and kitchen. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the bull head wearing headphones and the two large windows that made the living room. There were case file boxes scattered throughout the room. There was paperwork skewered with a knife on the mantle and the kitchen looked like a cross between a mad scientist's laboratory and a child's science fair project gone rogue. Clutter was everywhere most of it spilling out of old police filing boxes. She looked at the mantle a blank look falling over her face as she stared into the empty eye sockets of a skull, a real human skull. She pointed her cane at it a blank look on her face. "That's a skull."

"Ah yes a friend. Well I say friend…" He gave a wicked toothy smile and she smiled back in spite of herself.

The door to the flat opened and an older woman with white hair and a friendly face carrying a silver tray with tea on it walked into the room. She smiled brightly. "I brought you tea Sherlock."

She looked up and instantly her eyes found John standing behind Sherlock taking everything in with wide eyes. She turned her head toward Sherlock harshly whispering to him in a stage whisper that did little to prevent John from hearing. "Sherlock is this one of your clients? If I knew we were going to have company I would have cleaned up a little. I'll have to make more tea."

The woman who was obviously Mrs. Hudson spoke up louder. "I hope you don't mind the mess too much dear Sherlock can be such a slob but you know what they say about the smart ones. Well whatever your case is I'm sure Sherlock can get it sorted out. He's such a smart boy."

John looked at her stunned for a moment but looked at Sherlock who seemed as unaffected as a statue and decided to tell the truth after all she was still going to flat share with him. "I'm not one of his clients. Hi my name is Johanna Watson but please call me John I hate being called Johanna and I equally despise the nickname Jo. Um I'm not sure how to say this. I'm, I am, what I'm trying to say is."

"Oh just get on with it. Mrs. Hudson. I'd like to introduce my wife John." Sherlock said with a snap in his voice obviously bored with waiting. He turned and gestured to her with a wide theatrical wave of his arms and a smile that was fake but passable.

"You never mentioned a wife and why wasn't I invited to the wedding?" Mrs. Hudson said her arms crossed over her chest looking hurt at being left out.

Sherlock let out a dramatic sigh. "It's a recent development Mrs. Hudson."

"You aren't just pretending for a case are you dear?" Mrs. Hudson said as she looked at the former army doctor with what looked like hope in her eyes.

"No we seem to actually be married, but neither of us really remembers what happened last night. But the lack of cases involving married couples indicates that we are actually man and wife. If we do decide to stay married you are invited to the wedding. Mummy will eventually force us to have a real wedding and I'm going to see if I can get a favor out of Mycroft for going along it." Sherlock deadpanned.

"We'll I'm happy for you. It's not right for a handsome young man like you to be alone. Besides you could use someone to keep you out of trouble. I'll go and get you some more tea." Mrs. Hudson said with a smile as she walked out the door shutting it behind her.

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock said loud enough to be heard through the door but quiet enough not to harm anyone's hearing.

The two of them looked at each other an awkward air between them. The silence was jarring but neither of them could seem to find any words to say. John looked around the room again, it was nice but she didn't care for the clutter. Then again it wasn't too bad it gave the place character, not that this particular flat needed more character if the eclectic wallpaper, headphone wearing bull head, and stuffed bat were any indicators. In any case they didn't have to wait long for someone to break the silence.

"So how is the happy couple?" A man said as he walked into the living room with all the smugness of a man who was used to being right and had been proven correct again. He was dressed to the nines in a suit that seemed to ooze class, carrying an umbrella in spite of the sunny day. His smile was oily and sly and he used it like one would use a weapon. He sat down in the old red armchair John had been hoping to claim and took the teacup from the tray. He reminded her of Sherlock in a way with the height and the shape of his face though Sherlock was in her opinion much better looking. His hair was short a brown with a hint of red in the colour and he was a bit thicker in the middle than Sherlock. But Sherlock looked like he never ate at all so it wasn't saying much.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock spat. "I knew you'd have something to do with this! This is obviously another one of your pathetic attempts to try and bully me with your so called concern. I'm surprised you find the time between stuffing yourself with cakes and running the country."

Mycroft gave a longsuffering sigh and set down his tea. "The wedding was your idea both you and Dr. Watson were insistent on getting married and even though you were quite drunk at the time you were surprisingly forceful. You usually aren't like that on the rare occasions you do get drunk. Usually you just turn into a blubbering idiot but not to worry I made sure you wouldn't do anything you regretted. I researched Dr. Watson and found her to be an adequate partner for you. Her medical and army training should come in handy as well as the illegal firearm she likes to keep tucked away. So I let you have your way and I even gathered everything you would need for the wedding to be legal. Consider this a favor Sherlock."

John flinched at the mention of her gun and Sherlock bristled in his chair his eyes wild as he shot up.

"A favor! I do not consider this a favor Mycroft!" Sherlock shouted his hand flying up to gesture angrily at his elder brother.

"You should." The man gave Sherlock a smug smile but quickly turned his attention to John. He gave her a different kind of smile, one that was a fake attempt to cover up pity. "I do apologize for any trouble you may have experienced today. I understand that waking up next to my brother must have been a bit of a shock for you. I'm afraid that you may not remember much of last night, but I have made efforts to plan a proper ceremony for you six months from now, that should be enough time for you two to adjust to your newly wedded bliss. As for the rings you can wear them, save them for the ceremony, or choose a new set. Those were unfortunately the best I could do with such a short deadline. I have also taken the liberty of making several plans for a suitable Honeymoon for you to choose from after the official ceremony. Mummy will insist on you having a proper wedding Sherlock and I know you don't want to upset her."

Sherlock sulked into his chair pouting with his limbs sprawled out. "We don't want anything from you Mycroft! We don't want your wedding and we certainly do not want your honeymoon. You shouldn't have interfered in my life and I did not upset her."

"If I hadn't interfered there's a good chance you would have woken up newlyweds in the gutter, passed out drunk with all of Scotland Yard laughing at you. At least this way I managed to save what little remains of your dignity." Mycroft drawled lazily and John frowned as she heard the threat in it.

"My dignity doesn't concern you Mycroft." Sherlock spat the name like it was the foulest curse he could imagine.

"Maybe not but it wasn't only your dignity I was protecting brother." Mycroft said raising an eyebrow in challenge and gesturing slightly toward John with his fingers.

"Are you two going to fight all day?" John said as she closed her eyes against the onslaught of childish arguing. Her headache from earlier was making itself known again and now she had to deal with the two strange men arguing like children on the playground.

Mycroft gave the closest expression he would ever get to rolling his eyes and turned to John. "No Dr. Holmes, or would you prefer for me to call you Dr. Watson I am done trying to talk sense into my brother?"

"I'd prefer Dr. Watson or John either will do." She said a bit snappily the headache and stress of the situation sapping her usually limitless well of patience.

"Dr. Watson it is then. I have contacted your therapist and informed her that her services are no longer needed. I also had Anthea pick up your belongings from your former lodgings she will drop them off along with the wedding planning supplies. She should be over in an hour or so and as far as the plans go just choose whatever you like best from the selections and I'll have my people take care of the rest. I've taken the liberty of adding my name to your phone's contacts list please do not hesitate to call should you ever require my assistance. " Mycroft said as he smiled a proper smile at his new sister-in-law. He shook her hand and gave Sherlock a baleful look before retreating out the door.

"Do take time to tell our parents of your upcoming nuptials." Mycroft called out over his shoulder as he descended the stairs.

Sherlock slammed the door closed dramatically behind him and threw himself down on the couch where he sulked with his arms crossed over his chest.

John looked at the door with a frown pulling at her lips. "I think your brother might be a villain that escaped from a James Bond film."

Sherlock looked up at her looking somewhere between exasperated and curious. "Who's James Bond?"


	2. Chapter 2

_I do not own this show at all. Now that that is out of the way please enjoy the story. Thank you to everyone who followed, favorited, and/or reviewed. Yeah i noticed that there was an area here that was a little rough so i fixed it up a bit. sorry about that.  
><em>

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade was getting desperate. Three serial suicides had suddenly become four and this time the victim had written a note. Then there was Sherlock Holmes who should have been sending him insulting texts nonstop about the case, how horrible a job New Scotland Yard would be doing without him, and how Anderson was destroying all the evidence just by showing up at the crime scene. The unnatural silence of his phone was disconcerting but he was prepared after all desperate times called for desperate measures. To New Scotland Yard nothing said desperate like inviting the Consulting Detective onto a crime scene. He stopped the police car in front of Sherlock's new flat and hurried over to the door.

He knocked on the door and was pleasantly surprised when a nice older lady ushered him in with a smile. "Are you here to see Sherlock?" She chirped happily.

"Yes is he in?" Greg asked instantly on his best behavior with Sherlock's new landlord.

"He's in the flat up the stairs, but knock first he may busy. You know how the young ones are." She said looking proud as a peacock. "I'll be up right after you I just have to finish the tea. Would you like a cuppa?"

"No thank you I'm good and don't fret I'll be sure to knock." Greg said even as he winced. The first thing that popped into his head at the thought of Sherlock being busy was the man sprawled on the couch a syringe in his arm drugged up and higher than a kite. He'd already feared that Sherlock had turned to drugs again with the lack of texts on his phone. So he steeled himself to deal with the prat. He took a breath and prepared himself to give the detective the verbal thrashing of a lifetime until he actually reached the stairs. He stopped surprised doubting that he was hearing of all the things he could be hearing a girly giggle ringing down the stairwell.

"No no it's true I swear that's his name." The feminine voice said with a jovial tone shaking with surpassed laughter.

"What kind of idiot would name a character they invented Goldfinger? Does the entertainment business have anything resembling grey matter in their skulls? Goldfinger please even the skull on the mantle must have more brains than them." Sherlock's deep voice rumbled as he apparently criticized the makers of James Bond.

He ran the rest of the way up through the open door and was relieved when he saw Sherlock fully cognitive and drug free sitting on a green armchair that vaguely resembled a marshmallow with a shiny metal frame. Across from him in an old red armchair in what might have been the ugliest jumper he'd ever had the misfortune of seeing was a woman a little older than Sherlock. She was leaning forward obviously engaged in the conversation a small smile on her lips. Her hair was cut in an extreme pixie cut and her face looked to be one that vanished into any crowd until she made an expression. Then her face was animated every emotion clear presented like she had nothing to hide from the world. They both looked up at them the instant he ran in.

"Where?" Sherlock asked not even bothering to get up as he gestured with his head at the Detective Inspector.

"Brixton Lauriston Gardens." Lestrade said hoping he didn't sound as desperate as he felt and knowing it was futile to try and hide anything around Sherlock. He pointed at John deciding to get the inevitable question out of the way. "Who's she?"

"She is unimportant right now. Tell me about the case. What's new about this one you wouldn't come to get me if there wasn't something different?" Sherlock said standing and facing Lestrade. There was a blankness that looked like a lack of interest on his face but the fact that he stood gave away how eager he was for the hunt. Greg just hoped that he would decide to help out now instead of breaking into the crime scene later.

John flinched as she was cruelly brushed aside in favor of whatever it was the two men were talking about.

Lestrade thankfully ignored her moment of weakness and continued. "You know how they never leave notes." He said with a dip of his head to the side more out of common curtesy than anything.

"Yeah."

"This one did. Will you come?"

"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock asked and Greg could have cussed.

"It's Anderson." He said with a wince knowing that telling Sherlock might start up a rant on the other man's incompetence.

Sherlock huffed. "Anderson won't work with me. No one but you will. With Anderson on forensics you might as well have a plastic skeleton on scene. In fact you should do it, anything would be an improvement over Anderson, and at least the skeleton won't contaminate your crime scenes."

"Well he won't be your assistant." Lestrade said hopefully all his attempts not to sound desperate forgotten with the mention of Sherlock's crime scene nemesis.

"I need an assistant." Sherlock barked with an exasperated turn of his head.

"Will you come and look at it?" Lestrade asked hopefully.

"Not in the police car but I won't be long." Sherlock replied with a swing of his head.

"Thank you." He said the relief in his voice palpable. He turned and walked down the stairs passing Mrs. Hudson along the way.

John looked from the door to Sherlock and back again. Sherlock smirked the instant Lestrade was out of sight and it soon turned into a real smile that lit up his face like fireworks.

"Brilliant!" Sherlock jumped like an excited teenaged girl with his fists shaking and his legs curling towards his back.

"Yes!" He literally shook with excitement his hands punctuating his exclamations.

"Oh! Four serial suicides and now a note. Ah it's Christmas." He said raising his hands practically dancing as he swanned around the flat. He grabbed his Belstaff pulling it on with a swagger in his step as he talked and walked into the kitchen. "Mrs. Hudson I'll be running late. I might need some food when I get back."

"I'm your landlady dear, not your housekeeper." The older lady said as she put the tray down on the coffee table in front of John.

"Something cold will do I'm not terribly picky." He said as he threw on his signature blue scarf and picked a pair of black leather gloves up off the table.

"John have yourself a cuppa tea and make yourself at home." He stopped the door and looked at her. "Don't wait up for me." He called as he turned the knob and threw open the door. He was gone in a swish of his knee length coat.

Mrs. Hudson smiled at him as he left. She turned to John. "Look at him dashing about. My husband was just the same. But you're more the sitting down type I can tell. I'll be right downstairs if you need me you rest your leg." She said her voice tinged with the sort of fondness only a maternal need to care ever brought out.

"Damn my leg!" John shouted her uselessness bubbling up from her chest burning and bitter. The caustic words were out before she could stop them and Mrs. Hudson flinched from the vitriolic snap. The instant she said it shame flooded her. Mrs. Hudson was perfectly nice so why had she blown up on her so easily. "Sorry so sorry sometimes this bloody thing." She said hitting her leg gently with the cane for emphasis.

"I understand dear I've got a bad hip. Not sure how I get through most days without yelling at someone" Mrs. Hudson said with a nod of her head tapping her hip.

"Thank you for the tea." John said trying to soothe over any ruffled feathers that might have been left from her outburst.

"Well I won't be making it all the time. I'm your landlady dear not your housekeeper."

"A couple of biscuits would be lovely if you've got them." John said as she picked up the newspaper that was on the coffee table.

"Not your housekeeper!" Mrs. Hudson leaned out the door to explain before she left for her flat.

John nodded absent mindedly as she looked at the front page. The main story was about a woman who was apparently one of the serial suicides. What drew her eye was not the picture of the dead woman but a small picture of the silver haired man that was just in the flat. The caption read 'DI Lestrade in charge of the investigation'.

"You're a doctor." Sherlock's deep baritone rumbled from the door. John jumped and turned to look at him. He was casually pulling off the glove from his right hand and smiling at her. "In fact you're an army doctor."

John put her cane on the floor to steady herself and stood. "Yes. I am."

"Any good?"

"Very good." She stood up straighter her training as a soldier kicking in.

"Seen a lot of injuries then missing limbs, thoughtless bloodshed, violent deaths?" He said casually strolling toward her like murder and mystery were the last things on his mind.

"Well, yes." She said fighting down the blush that she knew would be blossoming over her cheeks at any moment.

"Bit of trouble too I bet." He said softly as he stopped in front of her.

"Of course, yes, enough for a lifetime, far too much." John said confused.

"Want to see some more?" He asked like far too much really meant not ever enough.

"Oh God yes!" And perhaps he was right about that.

She limped behind him feeling for once that her leg wasn't so bad. "Sorry Mrs. Hudson I'll skip the tea, I'm going with Sherlock." She said as she saw her landlady.

"Both of you?" She asked the concern bleeding into her voice.

Sherlock turned and walked up to her. "Possible suicides four of them. There's no use hanging around here when there's finally something fun going on." He said gently grabbing her shoulders and giving them a playful shake. He kissed her on the cheek noisily and John tried not to be jealous of an older woman Sherlock defiantly had no romantic feelings for.

"Look at you all happy it's not decent." She gave him a pat on the back and a "Go." That was drowned out by Sherlock exclaiming as he walked away.

"Who cares about decent? The game Mrs. Hudson is on!" He walked out the door held up his hand and called out. "Taxi." Like magic a taxi stopped the instant he did. They climbed in and Sherlock gave the driver the address. "Brixton, Lauriston Gardens."

They sat in the backseat in silence. John kept looking at Sherlock typing away on his phone and looking away trying to be discreet about it. It was hard for her to think of something to say to break the silence when she was practically drowning in awkwardness. Sherlock turned to look at her and saw her attempting not to stare. He could practically see her questions buzzing around her head like a swarm of bees. He spoke a slight huff in his voice as he decided to break the silence himself. "Okay you've got questions."

"Yeah where are we going?" She said her mind too full of stress and the last dregs of a hangover to filter out that stupid question.

"To the crime scene next." Sherlock said sounding like he was being forced to explain the obvious to a room full of massive idiots.

"Who are you and what do you do? Why would the police come to you?" She asked. She had an idea of what he was but it didn't add up quite right in her head.

"What do you think I am?" He asked a small smirk on his face.

"I would say that you're a private detective." John said sounding thoughtful.

"But?"

She looked over at him unable to stop the small smile from curling on her lips. "The police don't go to private detectives. So?"

"I'm a consulting detective. I'm the only one in the world I invented the job." He puffed up his chest filling with pride.

"And that means?" John asked.

"It means that when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me." He said in a tone that made her feel like an idiot.

"Only one problem with that mate, the police don't consult amateurs." She said her eyes sparkling with mischief as she decided to tease him a bit.

"You recall what I said when we met at St. Bart's. Do you want to know how I came to those conclusions?" The question was tinged with a self-satisfied purr.

She felt her face turning red and cursed the hormones that were reacting to the very attractive completely out of her league man next to her. "How did you know all that about me? Mike said he never told you anything and I know that I never said anything so how'd you know I was an army doctor with a therapist and an alcoholic _brother_?" She said emphasizing the word brother to tease him.

"I didn't know I saw. Your haircut is an extremely short but unfashionable pixie cut and the way you hold yourself back straight at attention says military. But your conversation when you entered the room said trained at Bart's. What do they teach at Bart's medicine so army doctor obvious. Your face is tanned but there's no tan above the wrists that means you've been abroad but not sunbathing. I shouldn't have to explain that one to you. Your limp is really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand like you've forgotten about it. So it's at least partially psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. That says wounded in action then. Wounded in action, suntan, Afghanistan or Iraq?"

John looked over at him. "You said I had a therapist. Thank your brother for firing her for me by the way she was a right menace."

"You have a psychosomatic limp of course you had a therapist." Sherlock sighed. "And I will never thank Mycroft for anything the day I thank him for anything will be the day his head will swell up enough to fit the entirety of the Thames. He's already got a big enough head so I feel that I'm doing him a favor by not mentioning it."

His eyes light up as he got back to the deduction. "Then there's your sister. Your phone is expensive, email enabled, mp3 player and you're looking for a flat share. You wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift then. Scratches not one many overtime. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The woman sitting next to me wouldn't treat her one luxury item like this. So it's had a previous owner. Next bits easy you know it already."

"The engraving and you thought Harry was my brother. Are you going to step back from that deduction now?" John asked raising her eyebrow in challenge.

Sherlock scoffed. "There's always something, but I know better now. Harry Watson clearly a family member who gave you their old phone. Not your father this is a young person's gadget. Could be a cousin but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live, it's unlikely you've got an extended family and certainly not one you're close to. So sibling it is, now Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment expense of the phone says wife not girlfriend. She must have given it to her recently this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then. Six months old and she's already giving it away. If Clara left her she would've kept it people do sentiment you know. But Harry wanted rid of it so she left Clara. She gave the phone to you that says she wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation and you're not going to your sister for help. That says you've got problems with her maybe you liked her wife maybe you don't like her drinking."

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?"

Sherlock's lips slid up in a slight half smile his eyes gaining a dangerous edge. "Shot in the dark, good one though. At the power connection tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every time she goes to plug it in to charge but her hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober person's phone and you never see a drunk's without them. There you see you were right."

John nodded. "I was right. What was I right about?"

"The police don't consult amateurs." He breathed.

"Amazing. You are just amazing." John breathed dazed not just by the deductions but the expressiveness of his face as he leapt from focus to discovery.

He looked at her his eyes slightly widened in surprise. "You really think so?"

She beamed at him shuffling slightly. "Of course you are. What you did it was extraordinary, quite extraordinary."

"That's not what people usually say about me." He said looking taken aback.

"What do people usually say then?" John asked him amazed that anyone would find what this man could do anything less than extraordinary.

Sherlock made a mocking disgusted face. "Piss off and other variations thereof."

John burst out laughing and Sherlock soon joined in tension drifting away from them like fog in sunshine. They laughed for a few minutes and when they quit laughing they were both more relaxed. But the carefree attitude quickly faded into something more sober. They spent a few minutes in a silence that should have been uncomfortable but wasn't. Sherlock was typing on his phone and John looked out the window a slight smile on her face as she discreetly took peeks at him.

"So did I get everything right?" Sherlock asked suddenly.

"Save the part about Harry being my brother which I will never forget by the way, yeah. Harry and me don't get on we never have, Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce, and Harry is a drinker. I don't get along with any of my family actually I'm a bit of a black sheep."

Sherlock snorted. "You're an army doctor and your sister is an alcoholic and you're the black sheep?"

"Yeah I am. My Mum just wanted to see me settled down with some bloke. I never found a guy I could actually see myself with. The relationships would all start out fine but there was always something missing. I joined the army to help pay for medical school because my Mum thought I should be marrying a Doctor instead of being one myself. She wouldn't life a finger to help me pay for my tuition. I guess it all worked out though. I was happier as an army doctor than I was with any boy I'd ever dated." She shifted on her seat.

"What about you do you get along with your family?" She asked.

"You've met my brother what do you think?" Sherlock huffed.

They arrived at the crime scene and Sherlock got out of the cab John crawling out behind him. She rushed to catch up with him cursing the pain in her leg and her cane mentally. She slowed down beside him trying not to think about the blinding pain. "So what exactly am I supposed to doing here seriously?"

"Two people going out and doing fun stuff together isn't it obvious? You're my date. This is technically our first date too considering the alcohol wiped the original first one out." Sherlock said not seeing anything wrong at all with taking a girl out to see dead bodies in real life and not just on a move screen where the bloodshed and violence were fake.

"Sherlock I don't know how you don't know this, but looking at a dead body is not anyone's idea of a good date." John said in a horrified stage whisper.

Sherlock looked at her confused. "It's mine."

"Of course it is." She sighed as they reached the edge of the crime scene.

"Hello freak." A petite dark skinned woman with curly black in a nice coat said as she walked over. John couldn't help but notice that she was prettier than her but her attitude toward Sherlock wiped out any would be jealousy. Anyone who couldn't appreciate his brilliance obviously wasn't worth the effort of being jealous of.

"The name is Sherlock Holmes and I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade." He said sounding bored again. It seemed to be his favorite way to speak.

"Why?" She asked harshly.

"Oh I don't know maybe I was invited." He said his tone reflecting his anger at being held up.

"Why?" She asked again harshly.

"Oh I don't know why would he ever invite me onto a crime scene? I'm going to go ahead and guess that he wants me to look it over and see what I can find." Sherlock looked to be giving her a mental eyeroll.

"Well you know what I think about all this don't you?" she said giving a fake smile and head nod.

"I always do Sally. You never change your mind." He lifted the tape and slipped under it. He stopped and took a sniff of the air. "I even know you didn't make it home last night."

John limped up to the 'police do not cross' tape and grabbed it so she could go under when Sally stopped her.

"Err… uh who's this?" She said startled out of the stupefied state Sherlock's statement put her in. She looked at John with more of the fake smile that John was really starting to hate.

"Colleague of mine Dr. Watson." Sherlock's voice grew just a bit calmer. He gestured to them both in turn. "Dr. Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend." Somehow John got the idea that they weren't ever friends at all.

"A colleague?" the fake smile turned into a huffing laugh. "How on earth did you get a colleague? What did he blackmail you or did he follow you home?" She inquired pointing to Sherlock then John.

"Would it be better if I just waited out here for you?" John asked.

"No. Sally's just being her usual charming self." Sherlock said as he lifted up the 'police do not cross' tape.

"Freaks here bringing him in." Sally said into a radio as she walked Sherlock and John to the dilapidated old house. Sherlock looked around everywhere. At the pavement, the pathway, the building. He turned in circles and John couldn't help but wonder what he saw.

A man walked up to them in an ugly blue onesie that he must be wearing to protect the crime scene. He pulled off his gloves one hand at a time and stopped in front of Sherlock who looked to put it mildly less than impressed. "Ah Anderson here we are again."

This Anderson kind of reminded her of a rat and he solidified this thought when he opened his mouth and spoke in a nasally voice. "This is a crime scene Sherlock I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?

"Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?" Sherlock said only looking up at the man because he was standing on the curb to appear taller.

"Oh don't pretend that you worked that out. Somebody told you that." Anderson said flippantly.

"No one needed to tell me anything when your deodorant is speaking so loudly." Sherlock said with a smile that was only bordering on vicious.

"My deodorant?" Anderson said looking like a caricature of a confused man.

"Yes it's for men." Sherlock said his face perking up in falsified excitement that had a tinge of real humor.

"Well, of course it's for men I'm wearing it. Anderson whined scrunching his face in offended confusion.

"Sergeant Donovan's wearing it too." Sherlock deadpanned.

He took an animated sniff of the air. "Ooh I think it just vaporized, you might want to freshen it up a bit. May I go in? I'm sure you and Sally would appreciate being alone together."

John held back giggles but didn't quite manage to hide her amused smile.

"Whatever you're trying to imply is private." Anderson said shaking his head and his finger as Sally glared at Sherlock just behind him.

"But I'm not implying anything Anderson. I'm sure your good friend Sally came around for a nice little chat, maybe even a cup of coffee and noticed it was late so she stayed over." He said spinning around to look at Sally eyes darting quickly over her body. "And I assume she also scrubbed your floors going by the state of her knees. Now Anderson is that anyway to treat a guest?" He pointed at her knees huffed amused.

John limped past her leaning heavily on her cane and couldn't resist the urge to look at her knees to see whatever evidence Sherlock saw. After all as offended as she looked and judging from her own experience with the man he got it all right. She followed Sherlock into a house that was dingy and dirty, almost falling to pieces around them. They walked past several rooms until they got to Lestrade where Sherlock pointed at a table that had copies of the ugly blue onesie Anderson wore and Lestrade was also wearing.

"You'll need to wear one of these to see the scene." He said walking past Lestrade ignoring the two forensic officers behind him.

"What's the lady from your flat doing here?" Lestrade said with a vague gesture in her direction.

"She's with me." Sherlock said looking up at him from where he was bent over pulling on his gloves.

"But who is she?" Lestrade said looking very unhappy at the idea of having a total stranger at his crime scene.

"This is my assistant Dr. John Watson." Sherlock said proudly.

Lestrade just sort of gaped at her while she pulled on the onesie.

"John is short for Johanna. She's got a sister named Harry." Sherlock said angrily.

"Aren't you gonna put one on too?" She asked the consulting detective.

He looked up at her with a glare that clearly stated that he would never be putting on the ugly onesie everyone else was being forced into. He looked at Lestrade. "Where's the scene at?"

"It's up the stairs." The man said without missing a beat. He led them to a staircase that spiraled up the building. "I can give you two minutes Sherlock. You're only here because I invited you so please try and follow the rules."

"I may need longer Anderson's probably already contaminated the scene." Sherlock drawled as he continued to look everywhere.

Lestrade didn't even turn to look at him. "Sherlock Anderson is allowed to be here, he's been trained to do this. I'd appreciate it if you would stop harassing my team. The victim's name is Jennifer Wilson. This isn't a theft she still had her wallet and all her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. She hasn't been here long, some kids found her about an hour ago."

Lestrade led them into the room where a woman in a pink suit was face down dead on the floor. John closed her eyes and winced.

"Shut up!" Sherlock suddenly exclaimed as he looked at Lestrade.

"I didn't even say anything." Lestrade said softly.

"You were thinking so loud they can hear you in America it's annoying." Sherlock said as he stepped toward the body.

John watched as Sherlock examined everything trying to keep up and wondering at the same time what he was seeing. The only thing that was obvious to her was that there were scratch marks that spelled out 'Rache' on the floor. He knelt down by the body and ran his hand over her coat looking at the fingers of that hand when he brought it up from the body. He took out her umbrella turning it over and rubbing his fingers together when he held it in his other hand. He put it down and felt underneath the collar of her coat and looked at his fingers after he did. He pulled out a magnifying glass and looked at her, John thought he was inspecting her jewelry but couldn't tell from the angle she was looking from. He took off her wedding ring looking through it from both sides. Then he put it back on her finger and smiled.

"Have you got anything?" Greg asked looking hopeful.

"Not much I'm afraid." Sherlock said as he stood.

"She is German." Anderson said from the doorway and John almost jumped at the sudden appearance of the rat faced man.

He leaned against the doorway pointing his finger against the corner of his mouth thoughtfully. "Rache it's the German word for revenge. It's possible that she could be trying to tell us something about her killer. We should check flights from Germany."

"Yes Anderson thank you for your valuable input." Sherlock said sarcastically even as he closed the door in Anderson's face.

"So she's German then?" Lestrade asked.

"Of course she's not." Sherlock said scrolling through his phone. "She is from out of town though. It looks like she planned to stay in London for one night before returning home to Cardiff. Her suitcase is small with an extending handle and wheels at that size for a woman that clothes conscious it can only be an overnight bag. So that eliminates an extended visit. So far, so obvious." He said putting his phone back in his pocket.

"Sorry how is that obvious?" John asked just as Lestrade said.

"If she's not German why did she write a German word?"

Sherlock ignored Lestrade all his attention on John. "Dr. Watson what do you think?"

"About what?" She asked.

"About the body. You're medically trained."

"We have a whole team outside to look at the body Sherlock." Lestrade exclaimed.

"A whole team that won't work with me. Tell me again how is that useful?" Sherlock's voice was tinged with sarcasm.

"You're not even supposed to be here. I'm breaking all the rules just letting you in." Lestrade cried. "And that's not including your assistant."

"I'm only here because you need me and I need her. So do you need me here or should I just take my leave and let you solve this on your own. I'm sure in the next ten years you'll eventually catch whoever is doing this."

He gave a slight nod of his head. "Fine do what you need to do I'll give you some time to examine the body."

"Dr. Watson if you would." Sherlock said holding his arm out toward the body.

John limped over and knelt down by the body cursing the limp when it took her what felt like forever just to get down on both knees. "Sherlock why did you bring me here it' obvious that you don't really need me."

"Like I said earlier this is a date." Sherlock said kneeling down beside her.

"A date is dinner and a movie or a night on the town. This is not a date." John said in an angry exasperated whisper.

"This is more fun."

"Fun Sherlock. This is fun to you? There's a woman lying here dead." She hissed.

"Perfectly sound analysis John but I was hoping you'd go deeper."

She scowled at him but began her analysis anyway. She sniffed at the woman's breath and looked at her fingers. "My diagnosis would be asphyxiation, probably. It looks like she passed out and choked on her own vomit. I can't smell any alcohol on her so she hadn't been drinking. It could be a seizure, it could also be drugs."

"It is drugs you've read the papers. This is the latest victim of the serial suicides." Sherlock said exasperated.

"Two minutes Sherlock let's hear it." Lestrade said looming over them.

Sherlock looked up and him and started talking. "Our victim is in her late thirties. Professional person going by her clothes, I'd say she's in the media due to that frankly alarming shade of pink."

Mentally John pictured the pink jammies and matching lingerie she'd woken up in and wondered if Sherlock thought that particular shade of pink was alarming too.

"She's been unhappily married for at least ten years and she's had a string of lovers she hid her marriage from. She came from Cardiff today planning to stay in London for one night according to the size of her suitcase. And don't start with the 'how did you know about the suitcase' business with me it's obvious by the mud stains on the back of her calf. Judging from the size it's an overnight bag it's the only thing it can be for a woman that conscious about what she's wearing. Look at her fingernails they're painted the exact same shade as her coat. That tells you all you need to know about her sense of style it also tells us that she never made it to her hotel. Her hair is a mess anyone that vain wouldn't leave a place they were staying until they were properly cleaned up. So where it is what have you done with the suitcase?"

"Sherlock if you're just making this up." Lestrade threatened.

"Look at her. The wedding ring is at least ten years old and it's dirty. This woman cleans the rest of her jewelry so why would she neglect her wedding ring? If she were happily married that wedding ring would shine, but only the inside does. It's only polishing comes when she works it off her finger. Her fingernails are not the fingernails of a woman who does any work with her hands so why would she remove it. Obviously she's got a lover, but not just one lover, a string of them. She'd never be able to sustain the fiction of being single for very long. So she goes through series of quick flings to hide that she's a married woman stepping out on her husband."

"That's brilliant." John said softly surprised when Sherlock looked over at her she said the first thing that came to her mind. "Sorry."

Lestrade looked at him. "How do you know that she's from Cardiff?"

"It's obvious isn't it?" Sherlock asked them.

"It's not obvious to me." John said.

"Dear God what's it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring." Sherlock gestured toward the body.

"Her coat is damp all you need to know about where she's from is right there on her coat. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. There hasn't been any strong wind or rain in London so obviously she had to come from out of town. Her coat is wet and so is the underside of her collar, but her umbrella is dry. If it was raining and she had an umbrella why didn't she use it? The answer is obvious she couldn't because of the wind. She turned her coat collar up because the wind was too strong to use her umbrella. Her coat is still damp so she hasn't been here long enough for it to dry. It can't have been more than two or three hours away or her coat would be dry. So she can't have come from too far so where has there been strong wind and heavy rain that would fit in the radius of travel time. Cardiff." He said holding up the weather app on his phone.

"That's fantastic." John exclaimed in wonder a smile on her face.

Sherlock whirled on her. "Do you know you do that out loud?"

"I'm sorry I'll shut up." She said blushing.

"No it's… fine." Sherlock said softly. "She must have had a phone or an organizer. With it we can find out who Rachel is. Now the suitcase?"

"She was writing Rachel?" Lestrade asked confused.

"No she was writing an angry letter in German. Of course she was writing Rachel! There's no other word it could be."

"Why do you keep saying suitcase? There is no suitcase." Lestrade said crossing his arms.

"Yes she had one weren't you even listening so where is it?" He hissed turning around in circles looking over the room frantically.

Lestrade glared down at him. "Sherlock no one's found a suitcase. She didn't have one here."

Sherlock ran out onto the stairs can called out to the rest of the house. "Has anybody seen a suitcase?"

"Sherlock for the last time there was never a case." Lestrade sounded like he was on his last nerve as he shouted.

"The victims they take the poison themselves. They chew and swallow a poisoned pill themselves, but this is not suicide this is murder. All the signs clearly point to it and anyone with a brain can figure that out. Even you lot. Now where is her case! Someone else was here and they took it or do you think she ate it?" He yelled sarcastically up the stairs he was already halfway down.

"And that means?"

Sherlock stopped suddenly and even from the top of the stairs he was so animated that John knew instantly he discovered something. "If this one's a murder so are the rest. Do you see it? These aren't just random murders, they are killings, serial killings. You've got a serial killer. I love serial killers they always give me something to look forward to. Oh but they are tricky you can only catch them when they make a mistake."

"Sherlock we can't just let them keep killing people so we can wait for them to make a mistake." Lestrade called down angrily.

"You're all idiots the mistake has already been made!"

"And what is it then? What's the mistake?"

"Pink!" Sherlock shouted and then he was gone out the door.

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Alright then everyone look for a suitcase."

John looked around and started down the stairs trying not to get knocked down by the officers that were going up. She reached the bottom her leg hurting and cursed the stairs her bad leg and Sherlock for leaving her there. She walked out onto the street grateful for the open air and the distance from the dead body. She looked around for a long coat and dark curls but Sherlock had vanished into the night. She walked toward the tape thankful she had enough money to get a cab. Sally was back by the tape and looked down at her with her arms crossed and a superior look on her face.

"He left me here didn't he?" John said calmly as she stopped in front of the officer.

"Yeah he tends to do that. Are you really his colleague or did he lie about that. He lies all the time so I can't be sure. One thing I do know is that you're certainly not his friend. A man like that doesn't have friends so who are you?"

John shrugged. "I'm, I'm nobody. I'm just his wife." She stopped watching as the other woman did an impressive impersonation of a dying fish as her own brain was repeating the phrase 'oh crap, oh crap, oh crap' repeatedly in her head. Yeah that whole plan of never mentioning this to anyone had just officially gone out the window and over a cliff while spontaneously combusting. She quelled her inner panic trying not to let her fear show on her face.

Donavan took a deep breath to steady herself and looked at John with a mix of anger and pity that just ended up making her look constipated. "Okay bit of advice then, get out now. Stay away from Sherlock Holmes. You know who he is? Do you know why he's here? He isn't paid to come in and do this or anything. So why would he come at all."

Sally smiled like she was spilling the greatest secret she'd ever heard. " You want to know my opinion. He likes it, he gets off on it the weirder the crimes the more he gets off, but you probably already know that, and you know what one day that won't be enough for him. One day we're going to be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one who put it there. So take my advice and run. Divorce him and get as far away as you can. He's going to crack one day and when he does it looks like you're going to be the one in the line of fire. He'll kill you and I for one won't be surprised when it finally happens." She finished looking smug.

"Why would he kill anyone?" She asked the tone of her voice pleasant enough but anyone who knew her knew better than to cross her when her voice went into that forced politeness tone.

"Because he's a psychopath. He can pretend all he likes but I know better and psychopaths get bored." Sally said flatly and John's fist clenched as she resisted the urge to punch the officer in her face. Instead she turned and lifted the tape eager to get away. She could probably call a cab service from her phone. She didn't get far when a nice obviously expensive looking black car pulled up on the street beside her. John looked over at the car as a woman with auburn hair in a smart black skirt suit got out.

"Dr. Watson?" The woman said distractedly as she typed into her phone.

"That would be me and you are?" John asked confused as to why she was being accosted by a random woman at a crime scene.

"Anthea. Mycroft sent me to pick you up at Sherlock's request" The woman said as she walked to the other side of the car and got in.

"Oh weren't you supposed to meet me at the flat?" John said as she slid into the car.

"As I said I was asked to pick you up." Anthea said disinterested as she frowned into her phone.

"Did Sherlock really ask you to pick me up?" John asked trying and failing not to hear the hopefulness in her voice. She winced, she sounded like a teenager with a crush.

"Um no." Anthea said not even looking up from her phone. John tried to find it in herself not to be disappointed.

_Any lines taken directly from the episode A Study in Pink and any other episode of Sherlock belong to the people who own Sherlock and the people who wrote the episode.  
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	3. Chapter 3

_I do not own this show at all. This fic will have scheduled updates from now on. Expect new chapters to be posted on Fridays if I miss an update check again the next week it should be up. Any planned hiatus lasting for longer than two weeks will be posted both in the story and in the profile, unplanned emergency hiatus's will only be posted on the profile. Now that that is out of the way please enjoy the story._

John frowned as she sat in the backseat. It wasn't that important that he left without even telling her that he was running off. If Sherlock didn't like her he wouldn't have said they were on a date even though his idea of a date was investigating a crime scene with a scowling DI looming over them. It didn't matter that Mycroft AKA the Bond villain brother was more considerate of her than Sherlock was. Separated from him for the first time today she could think straight. They had no responsibility to each other and it would just be silly of her to think that anything that he did meant anything for them as a couple. She didn't even have the right to be jealous of anyone he interacted with. They were married but that had been a decision obviously brought on by copious amounts of alcohol and they didn't know each other at all really.

It shouldn't hurt. She should have been able to wash her hands of the whole drunken marriage fluke when she woke up that morning. She should have taken off the rings and apologized for making such a big mistake and walked away with her dignity and pride wounded but her common sense intact. It shouldn't sting that she'd have to leave but it did somehow. Now that she was by herself without him there unease had settled deep into her. If she had to give a reason for her temporary lapse of sanity I'd be that she'd been alone a long time. She was lonely and she'd woken up next to a beautiful mysterious stranger and she was married to him. What woman wouldn't dream of that after having so many failed relationships? It all seemed like a dream and her heart had run away with her leaving her head too hung over to realize she was on a sinking ship. This thing they had if she could even call it a thing was doomed. It was pointless to try and make this work out when she knew it was only going to end badly.

It had even looked like it could turn out alright. They had spent hours just talking about James Bond only stopping when Mrs. Hudson brought up lunch. Sherlock was fascinating and she was amazed at what he could do. He was amazing and fun to tease because he made such great expressions. He was eccentric and a bit of an odd duck, but he'd made her laugh for what felt like the first time in ages. Maybe if they'd just been flat mates they would have made it someday. In the days since she'd come back from Afghanistan her life had been so grey, so boring that she had contemplated just ending it all. He'd brought her excitement and adventure, threw her into a world so vibrant she'd been blindsided to what she knew was inevitable. She sighed even as she realized that it would be wrong to stay and lead him on like this. No matter how good they could have been this wasn't right. They'd both end up feeling trapped and hating each other. It was better to do this now, break it off cleanly, and have something to laugh about one day.

She looked out the window and startled when none of the scenery matched Baker Street and she realized that she should have already arrived at the flat. "Where are we going?"

Anthea looked up from her phone. "Mr. Holmes has requested a private meeting with you."

"Which one?" She asked dreading the answer.

"My employer Mycroft Holmes." Anthea said in a tone that was condescending and bored at the same time.

"We couldn't meet at Baker Street." She said holding her head.

Anthea looked up briefly. "Mycroft prefers to pick meeting spots Sherlock cannot find easily."

John nodded. "So that would be a no then. Do you know why he wants to talk to me?"

Anthea didn't answer her instead she typed on her phone sending messages at speeds that teenage girls would be jealous of. They sat in silence for the rest of the ride John looking out the window and trying to see where they were going. She didn't recognize the area though so it was pretty pointless in the end.

The car pulled into an abandoned warehouse where Mycroft stood silhouetted in the headlights of the car. He was standing in a way that seemed lighthearted one foot resting on point behind the other leg in a jaunty pose she he leaned on his seemingly ever present umbrella. If John hadn't known who he was she would have been wary, but meeting him that morning had given her some knowledge of his character. Mycroft Holmes in her opinion could be described in one word, controlling. She stepped out of the car keeping her eyes on him like one would when a poisonous snake was in front of them. She limped up to him hyper aware of her limp. "You could have just phoned me, on my phone."

"Ah Dr. Watson it is nice to see you. Your leg must be hurting you please sit down." Mycroft gestured to a small black and silver chair. John's eyes hardened recognizing his attempt for what it was. An attempt to show her who was superior and she wasn't going to fall for it.

"How about no?" She stood as tall as she could rising to the unspoken challenge.

"If that is what you want." Mycroft said with a pleasant nod that somehow managed to be unpleasant. She couldn't help but wonder if that was a talent of his, making every single gesture a threat.

"What am I doing here? Nice venue by the way I can see why it would be a hotspot for secret meetings." She gestured vaguely to the abandoned warehouse with the hand that was not gripping her cane.

Mycroft sighed sounding just like a teacher who had popped out for a moment to have a word with the principle and came back to find their classroom in chaos and ruin. "Dr. Watson you are here because like it or not we are family now. Family comes with obligations, the sharing of important information among them. Knowing Sherlock I feel there are things that you need to know now before you see my brother again. He isn't likely to tell you and knowing Scotland Yard's propensity to using extreme measures to get my brother to comply with their wishes I believe that you should hear it beforehand before it can become an issue."

John fidgeted with her cane. "About Sherlock I think it would be better if…"

"For your own sake Dr. Watson do not finish that sentence. I know what you are going to say and quite frankly I do not want to hear it." Mycroft said with an almost bored tone as he inspected the end of the umbrella.

John scoffed. "How do you know what I'm going to say?"

"It's written all over you I can see that doubts about the feasibility of your marriage to my brother have already begun to creep in. I brought you here to put your mind at ease." He said waving his arms as if to encompass the whole of the warehouse.

"How so?" She said in a tone that was a touch too pleasant.

He smiled at her with a feigned grin. "Simply put if Sherlock had objected to the marriage you would have already received an annulment by now. Unbelievable as it seems to be my brother does have contacts and associates he could turn to in times such as this. If he really wanted to he could have gotten me to dissolve the marriage myself with little hassle. You'd be a free woman now if Sherlock were uninterested in pursuing a relationship."

"If I'm having doubts as you say I am then why are you so sure that Sherlock isn't having doubts too?" John's pleasant tone had become a shade darker.

Mycroft gave a subtle scoff. "Because I know my brother Dr. Watson. I know him well enough to tell when he's serious about something but if you insist upon proof. He offered the flat share to you. He was willing to go out drinking with you. His first and perhaps only coherent thought when he was drunk was 'let's get married' and he was so convinced that it would work that he was willing to offer me a favor to make it happen. He did not immediately throw you out of the house when he found you in his bed uninvited. He brought you along with him to a crime scene when he can barely stand the thought of sharing a crime scene with the police let alone a total stranger. Is that enough evidence of Sherlock's interest or would you like me to go on?" He finished with a smug smile she thought he might practice in the mirror for how well he pulled it off.

John held her head with the hand that wasn't supporting her cane. "We were drunk. I'm not going to deny that there is the potential for something there. I like Sherlock well enough but a relationship based on one night of binge drinking isn't going to work."

"Then allow me to put this in perspective for you. My brother does not trust easily. His deductions and demeanor have pushed away everyone he could have called friend. There was a time when my brother turned to drugs to escape the racing of his mind. Her overdosed twice before he got clean and he has remained clean to this day. He wouldn't tell you of course, but I feel it necessary to get the point across. If your actions cause my brother to turn back to that particular vice I will deal with you myself." He looked her up and down. "You don't seem very scared."

"Well you don't seem very threatening." She said cheekily.

"Of course the bravery of a soldier." He laughed. "There are less kind ways to call someone stupid. Isn't that right JoJo?" He asked a cruel smirk on his lips.

John's eyes widened and her heart did an unpleasant jump in her chest. "How do you?

"Know about the nickname your father gave you? He died young, right after you graduated in a car accident. Your mother is overbearing and every time you attempt to reconcile with her it ends with her calling you stupid. You could never outshine your older sister Harry and when you tried it ended badly for you. You could never hold down a boyfriend because you felt like you were too ugly for them. Your mother also has a tendency to disapprove of anyone you genuinely liked and in foolish attempts to please her you would leave thriving relationships. You enjoyed med school but lost your scholarship due to the actions of your drunkard sister. You joined the army to pay for the rest of your tuition. Then within a month of your promotion to captain you were shot in the shoulder. You are not against the relationship because you don't like Sherlock you are simply waiting for the other shoe to drop." Mycroft informed her with a bland look on his face that made what he said all the more sinister.

"How do you know all that?" John said anger instead of fear filling her. She tightened her hold on her cane ready to fight back if need be.

"I did say that I did my research before I let you marry my brother. I tend to be thorough as I don't like when valuable information slips through the cracks. What may otherwise look promising can fall through if the little details are ignored. Like your therapist's diagnosis for example." He said absently like the information was unimportant. He pulled a small black book out of his inside jacket pocket. "Has trust issues, she said."

"Those sessions were private." John hissed her mindset quickly turning to one reminiscent of an alley cat with a threat on its territory.

"Nothing you do is private anymore Dr. Watson." He said like it was fact. She was inclined to believe it. "Now back to the focus of the matter. Out of all the people you could've chosen to trust you chose Sherlock Holmes. You don't seem inclined to make friends easily."

"You shouldn't have those notes."

"You were waiting for the other shoe to drop so let me do you a favor and let it loose. You are married to a self-proclaimed sociopath. His brother is a very powerful man who will be keeping an eye on you. Sherlock's idea of a good time is a trip to the local crime scenes. He is an ex-junkie and he will hurt your feelings. He will say things that will hurt you. He will manipulate you and have no qualms about doing so. He'll hide what he really feels and he has put up many walls before he met you. But he has let you in and he hasn't let anyone into his life like that before. It means that he's attached to you and if you leave, well my brother has never dealt with loss well before."

"So you're threatening me then."

"No it's not a threat I don't threaten people. When I say something it is fact. When I say that I will hunt you down, erase your existence, destroy your life I mean every word. Threats are empty, so no I'm not threatening you. I am simply warning you of the consequences you will face if you make the wrong decision."

"That sounds a lot like a threat."

"If you choose to see it that way." He smiled at her and the image of a great white with an umbrella duct taped to its fin popped into her head. It was as hilarious as it was terrifying.

She kept her face straight even as she struggled to hold in laughter. "Then I'll consider myself warned."

"We do not have to be enemies Dr. Watson. The fact that I believe that you can help my brother at all says a lot about you. I was right to fire your therapist. She needs to go back to school and pay attention this time around. I can tell that she was wrong by your left hand. It's also how I know that you won't leave Sherlock. You don't want to."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Show me." He said with a smile John was beginning to hate.

She held up her left hand and Mycroft walked toward her. He made to take her hand to inspect it and she pulled back from him. "Don't."

He tilted his head to the side and raised his eyebrows with a smile. She knew he'd won so she let him take her hand. This was a power play she wouldn't win and trying to fight him would make her look foolish. He turned her hand over his eyes seeing so much more than hers ever could.

"Fascinating." He said finally relinquishing her hand.

Her phone beeped and she pulled it out of her pocket to look at the text. 'Baker Street come at once if convenient. SH '

"I hope I'm not distracting you?"

The phone beeped again. 'If inconvenient come anyway. SH'

"No not distracting me at all." She said putting her phone back in her pocket.

"Most people blunder around the city and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes you see the battlefield. You've seen it already haven't you."

"Why did you need to see my hand?

"You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand. Your former therapist thought it was post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you are haunted by your military service but we both know that's not true. I was right to fire her you are under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady. You're not haunted by the war Dr. Watson you miss it."

"Welcome back." Mycroft whispered.

"Are we done here?"

"You tell me." He said smug satisfaction that he'd managed to rattle her oozing out of him in his voice and smile. He turned walking away throwing his final words at her from over her shoulder as he spun his umbrella. "Time to choose a side."

Anthea walked up to her and spoke once again not looking up from her phone. "I'm to take you home."

John checked her phone the ring of her text alert having gone off right before Mycroft's final words. 'Could be dangerous. SH' She smiled at the message and looked at her hand. It was perfectly steady.

_Thank you's to anyone who reveiwed, favorited, or followed this story I appreciate it. _


	4. Chapter 4

_I do not own this show at all. I have decided against scheduled updates and Waking Up on Baker Street will not be updated every Friday. This story is not being abandoned I will be continuing this story. Now that that is out of the way please enjoy the story._

John limped into the flat at Baker Street her conversation if that barely civil exchange of words could be called a conversation still playing in her mind. She looked over at Sherlock and saw him, without his jacket on, lying on the couch. His hand was pressed to the crook of his arm and the first though that went through her mind was drugs. Panic struck instantly as thoughts of an insanely furious umbrella wielding Mycroft hunting her down quickly followed on the heels of the revelation of 'oh crap he's on drugs'. This was immediately followed by the protective anger of a doctor because how dare he do drugs so casually around her. "What are you doing?"

"Nicotine patch." He said lazily pulling his sleeve up further so that she could see the round flesh toned patches that were too dark to be hidden on his pale skin. "It helps me think." He let out a long slow breath that dissolved into words. "It's impossible to sustain a smoking habit these days. Bad news for brain work." He said popping the k on work.

"Well that's good news for breathing." She said relieved that her bother-in-law wasn't about to hunt her down and destroy her.

"Breathing." Sherlock scoffed. "Breathing is boring."

"You say that until you stop." John looked at his arm as she limped by him. "Is that three nicotine patches?"

"It's a three patch problem. Like I said they help me think." He said putting his hands together in a prayer like hold under his chin as he closed his eyes.

She glared at him trying not to get too angry. "You could make yourself sick doing that. If you need help thinking take a shower or a nap or have some tea. Pumping chemicals into yourself like that does more harm than good."  
>He gave her a look that clearly stated 'I'm aware of that and I don't care' and closed his eyes again.<p>

She leaned forward to look out the window. "Well you called me here it must be important. Your texts sounded urgent enough." She said standing in front of the couch.

His eyes popped open and his eyes flicked over to her. "Oh yeah of course can I borrow your phone?"

"You need my phone?" John asked her voice reflecting clearly that she was nearing the end of her considerable patience.

He looked up at her with sharp eyes. "Don't want to use mine always a chance it'll be recognized the number is on the website."

"You know I think Mrs. Hudson has a phone. Did she go out?" She asked already feeling that she was going to regret choosing to stay with this man who might well be the most frustrating man on the planet.

"She's right downstairs I tried shouting but she didn't hear." He breathed out sounding disappointed.

"I was on the other side of London and you can't walk down the stairs to borrow a phone?" Her voice had taken on a tone that could be called thunderous.

"There was no hurry." He said like he'd never sent a message that implied peril.

"'Could be dangerous.' Yeah that doesn't sound like an urgent message to me." She said sarcasm practically dripping from her voice. She held out her phone angrily. "Here."

The prat held out his hand but didn't bother to take it. She slapped it into his hand trying hard not to explode. Instead she let out a heavy breath. He put it between his hands putting them under his chin again.

"So is this about the case?" She asked letting her curiosity win out over her anger before she did something stupid.

"It's about her case, the suitcase obviously, the murderer took her case. His first big mistake. " Sherlock said lazily.

"He took her case how is that a mistake?" John asked as she looked out the window.

Sherlock wasn't paying attention to her though instead he talked under his breath so quietly that the words were lost almost as soon as they left his mouth. When he did speak up it was booming after the silence. "There's a number on my desk I want you to send a text." He held her phone out to her and her temper threatened to flare up again.

"You brought me here to send a text." She said each word through her teeth even as she grabbed the phone from his hand.

"Text yes number's on my desk." He said with a dismissive wave.

John limped over to the window and pulled the curtain out a little bit as she scanned the street below.

Sherlock looked up at her. "Something's bothering you."

"I just had another meeting with your brother. He knew things, things that you don't know just by glancing at someone. He looked into my files, my therapy files and he basically said nothing in my life is private anymore." She said biting her lip in embarrassment and to prevent herself from cussing up a storm like she really wanted to do.

"That's just Mycroft's way of showing _concern._" He spat like the word concern like it was inherently filthy. "Anthea dropped off your things earlier so he's probably had the cameras installed by now." Sherlock sounded far more relaxed about the cameras than he had a right to.

"Cameras?" John squeaked although if she was honest it wasn't much of a surprise considering the kidnapping and the drunken wedding he could have stopped but didn't. Yeah secret spy cameras seemed to fit Mycroft's style perfectly.

"Oh don't worry I just strut around in the nude for a week or so and they tend to go away." Sherlock said with a smile that was wicked like a cat that had just spotted a brand new canary.

"No Sherlock you are not just spending a week prancing around the flat naked." John said her face a shade of red that should not be possible for a human.

Sherlock shrugged from his spot on the couch. "We're married isn't that what married couples do?"

"Not when people just barge in all the time. This flat practically has a revolving door from what I've seen today and Mrs. Hudson could see you, you berk." She said picturing the old woman having a heart attack after walking in on Sherlock in his birthday suit.

"It's nothing she hasn't seen before." Sherlock sighed like she was stupid.

"Please tell me that you are not being serious." John said dragging her hand down her face her headache was beginning to start again. She wondered if it was going to be a constant thing with him and quickly decided yes it was.

"She's been married." Sherlock said shifting to look at her.

"Sherlock no, just no, you are not going to run around the flat starkers." She said waving her hands for emphasis as she spoke.

"Fine on my desk the number." He said harshly but thankfully it looked like the naked talk was over.

John limped past the coffee table to the large desk. She picked up the piece of paper. "Jennifer Wilson? Wasn't that the dead woman?

"Not important." He snapped. "Have you done it?"

"Hang on I have not used a phone like this much okay." She said raising her voice annoyed.

"These words exactly. 'What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland Street. Please come.'" He said flatly. She was beginning to label it the 'you're so stupid why don't you just listen to me' voice.

"Wait you blacked out?" Her annoyance instantly replaced with concern the doctors instinct taking over much like it had earlier.

"What, no I didn't black out now send the text." Sherlock said as he stepped onto the coffee table and walked over to a chair on the other side of the room where a pink suitcase was sitting. He picked it up and carried it back toward the desk taking a smaller chair and putting it down so he had a place for it.

She frowned into the phone screen. "What's the address?"

"22 Northumberland Street. Now hurry up!" He snapped.

She finished typing and turned when she heard the unmistakable sound of something being unzipped. There was a pink suitcase on the chair and Sherlock opened it revealing that the pink lady may just have had an unhealthy obsession with that color because almost everything was pink. Her voice took on a sorrowful note. "That's… That's the pink woman's case, Jennifer Wilson's case."

"Yes obviously" Sherlock said knotting his fingers together as he looked at it. His shoulders fell and his head dropped a bit. "Oh and I probably should mention that I didn't kill her." He looked at her while he was saying it as though accusing her of accusing him.

"I never said you did." She said softly. This hitting her harder than the speech from Sally Donavan did. He really thought that she believed he would do this.

"Why not? Given the text and the case one could argue that it's only logical that I would have done it." Sherlock said looking at her with mistrust that felt like a knife to her sternum.

She smiled at him hoping to dispel some of the unwanted tension that had filled the room. "Well you have an alibi unless you drugged me and I dreamed up that conversation about James Bond earlier. Then there's your excitement about the case. Why would anyone be excited about a mystery when they know how it ends? Do people usually assume you're the murderer?"

He smiled at her. "Now and then, yes."

He pushed himself up onto the back of the seat crouching like a gargoyle in the chair. She limped over to the red armchair and settled in.

"How did you get the case? I'm assuming you found it after you ran off and left me at a crime scene."

"I looked for it."

"Where did you look?"

He leaned forward in his chair and she could tell he was going to start showing off again. "The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens and he could only have kept the case by accident if it was in the car. This is a bright pink case made to draw attention and no one can carry a case like this without drawing the eye particularly a man which is statistically more likely. So he needed to dispose of it. I checked every back alley wide enough for a car within five minutes of the crime scene. It wouldn't have taken him longer than that to notice it. It took me less than an hour to find the right skip." He moved a lot when he spoke animated even in the smallest gestures. Yet again he reminded her why she hadn't left yet. This man was amazing.

"Pink." She said with a small smile. "You got all that because you realized that her case was pink."

"She color coordinated her nails and her shoes obviously the case would be pink." He said holding his hands out in front of him.

"Why didn't I think of that?" She asked shaking her head.

"Because you're an idiot." Sherlock said and she looked up at him her eyes wide.

"Don't look at me like that practically everyone is." He said shaking his hand.

He folded his hands under his chin resting it on his knuckles. "Now look and tell me do you see what's missing?

"From the case how could I?" She said with a shrug.

"Her phone. Where is her phone? It's not here and it wasn't on her body. A woman hiding that many affairs would need a mobile phone to keep track of them and she would be careful about it. She would never leave it behind never forget it so where is it?"

"I, um, she could have left it at home." John's voice wavered with her uncertainty.

"I just said she'd never forget it. She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it." Sherlock said harshly but softer than he was with just about anyone else.

John scrunched up her face in confusion. "Why'd you even have me send that text?"

"The question is who has her phone now?" Sherlock said raising one slightly bushy eyebrow.

She looked down at her phone. "The murderer. The murderer has it."

Sherlock sighed. "Maybe she left it when she left her case and maybe he took it for some reason. Either way balance of probability is that the murderer has the phone now."

"Wait did you just make me text a murderer?" John asked her voice stilted with confusion and fear.

The phone rang and they both looked at it. Sherlock gave a wicked grin. "A few hours after his last victim has supposedly perished the murderer gets a text from someone who can only be his victim. A person who just found that phone would ignore a text like that, but the murderer would panic." Sherlock said as he shut the case for emphasis.

"Have you talked to the police about this Sherlock?" John asked watching as Sherlock walked over to the door.

Sherlock scoffed. "Four people have died there isn't time to talk to the police."

"And yet here you are talking to me." She said almost rolling her eyes.

"Mrs. Hudson took my skull." He said as he pulled his jacket on at the door.

"So I'm basically filling in for your skull?" She asked though it was more a statement than a question. She had little doubt that she was indeed a replacement skull.

"Relax you are doing fine." He pulled on his Belstaff.

"Well?" He asked.

"Well what?" She snapped back.

"Well you could just stay here and watch telly."He said looking disgusted at the very idea.

"You want me to come with you?"

He pulled the scarf around his neck. "I like company when I go out. I think better when I talk out loud and the skull just attracts attention. Problem?"

"Yeah Sergeant Donovan." John said.

"What about her?" Sherlock asked annoyance clear in his voice.

"She knows about us now and she said you get off on this, you enjoy it." John said although she didn't sound upset, she was more resigned to it.

"And I said dangerous and here you are." He turned on his heel and walked out the door. She pushed up on her cane with a curse and followed him out the door.

_Special thanks to The Archfiend for pointing out a language error, it has been fixed. Thank yous to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this story._


	5. Chapter 5

_I do not own this show at all. Now that that is out of the way please enjoy the story._

Limping after Sherlock Holmes hurt like hell. He had long legs and he didn't slow down for anyone not even his limping wife. John had to rush to keep up with the brilliant but impossible man. He spoke as he walked so she had to divide her attention between listening to him talk and trying not to scream in pain as her psychosomatic injury was pushed past the metaphorical breaking point. She managed to just barely keep stride with the genius.

"So where are we going?" She asked hoping that she didn't sound like she was holding in a scream of pain.

"Northumberland Streets a five minute walk from here." Sherlock said and if she shot him a dirty look she was sure that no one would blame her.

"So this supposedly genius serial killer is stupid enough to go there?" She said snarkily.

Sherlock smiled lighting up the way John was willing to bet he always did when an interesting crime was involved. "Oh no I think he's brilliant enough. I love the brilliant ones they are always so desperate to get caught. They want the applause, the spotlight, the attention. No they don't just want it they need it. That's the frailty of genius it needs an audience."

"Yeah I can see that." She said thinking of the Holmes brothers and their theatrical ways.

"This is his hunting ground." He turned and though he didn't gesture she had a feeling that he would have if it hadn't meant hitting some poor unsuspecting person in the face. "Right here, the middle of the city. He's abducting his victims and that changes everything because no one saw him take them. They all disappeared, taken in busy streets where there are crowds and yet no one saw anything. No one knows who could have taken them."

He stopped suddenly leaning down and shaking his hands by his hair. "Think! Who do we trust without knowing the. What kind of person passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?"

She looked over at Sherlock. "I don't know. Who"

He smiled at her. "Haven't the faintest." He clapped. "Hungry?"

He led her into a small restaurant with the name Angelo's proudly emblazoned over the door. If she was being honest she was just grateful that they would not be staking out twenty two Northumberland Street from behind a dirty skip. That seemed like something Sherlock would do considering the fact that he dove into one earlier to look for a case. It wouldn't surprise her one bit if he did. He opened the door for her and gestured with his arm for her to go in.

"Thank you Billy." He said to the waiter who gestured to their table as he walked in the door. It was the table closet to the door and it had a large window that looked out onto the street. He took a seat facing the door that let him look out the window. She took the seat that put her back to the window and took her black jacket off. She picked up the menu more because that was what one was expected to do at a restaurant than because she was hungry and looked it over.

"Twenty two Northumberland Street we can keep our eyes on it from here." Sherlock said with a nod that was more a gesture of where she should be looking than anything.

"And he's going to just what go up and ring the doorbell. No one is that stupid."

"Well he did just kill four people and as I mentioned earlier he wants to get caught. He wants the spotlight and if no one knows it was you then what's the point of a spotlight?" Sherlock said his eyes never straying from the trap he'd set with a text.

"Sherlock." A large man with a greying brown beard and a ponytail sort of hummed and said at the same time as he shook Sherlock's hand with what looked like a death grip. "Anything on the menu whatever you want it's on the house. For you and for your date."

John frowned. "This is not a date."

Sherlock ignored her choosing to introduce them instead. "This is Angelo four years ago I proved that he did not commit a gruesome triple murder because he was on the other side of town housebreaking at the time of the murder."

"He cleared my name." Angelo said bringing Sherlock into a one armed hug.

"I cleared it a bit. This is John she's my wife." Sherlock said proudly and John resisted the urge to slap herself in the forehead. "Anything happening outside?"

"Nothing." He said shaking his head. "He leaned toward John speaking in a stage whisper like he was sharing a secret. "If it weren't for this man I would have gone to prison."

"You did go to prison." Sherlock said as he scanned the building across the street again.  
>"I'll get you two a candle. It's more romantic." Angelo said with a smile at John that she returned with a grimace. He walked away looking like he was going to come back and start fawning over them at any second.<p>

"This is a murder investigation not a date." John hissed through clenched teeth the second he turned his back hoping to get Sherlock to understand that no matter how many times he said it she would never believe that solving crimes was a good date. Sherlock smirked and the urge to smack the git was so strong John almost had to physically restrain herself to keep from slapping him.

He gestured to the menu that was still in her hands. "You may as well eat we have a long wait."

Angelo brought back a little tea light for their table. John looked at it with a raised eyebrow wondering how any candle that small could be romantic. It was pitiful really but it could have been worse he could have brought out a candle that really did increase the romance of the situation. That would have been way too weird for her to deal with.

Their waiter came and she ordered a plate of spaghetti light on the sauce and he let her eat in silence as he looked out the window.

"You do know that real people aren't like this." She said holding up her fork the silence finally too much for her. "Normal people do not take their dates out to murder scenes and stakeouts."

"Then what do normal people do to woo each other?" He said with a sigh that sounded sarcastic.

"They go to the cinema. They have picnics in the park. They go out to dinner and no this doesn't count you're not eating and we're staking out the building next to us. This isn't a normal real person dating dinner. They go to museums and to the pub and they just generally try and have a good time with someone they like."

He let out a long suffering sigh. "Dull. Normal life sounds so boring. How do people stand it doing the same thing day in and day out? Get up, go to work, watch telly, go to bed and repeat it all the next day until it's the weekend and then it's time to go out and get wasted so they forget how dreadfully bored they are. It's no wonder so many people snap."

"Well you're just a ray of sunshine aren't you?" She said sarcasm dripping off her voice like melting icicles.

Sherlock smirked leaning on the table with his chin on his hands. "Says the Army Doctor with a psychosomatic limp."

"Shut up." She said with a roll of her eyes and a friendly shove to the shoulder. "You don't know a thing about romance."

"I know enough. It's brain chemistry and electrical signals not some grand mystery." He said almost snappily.

"Your idea of romance includes dead bodies." She said flatly.

Sherlock moved toward her shifting so that he was sitting right beside her. His hand took hers in a gentle hold and it was warmer than she ever expected it to be sending waves of heat through her. She was instantly aware of his knee touching hers even as his hand reaching up to brush against her cheek. The feather light touch sent tingles up and down her nerves and her breath hitched. His hand rested against her face and she leaned into the touch. He leaned in closer and her eyes darted to his lips licking her own in anticipation. He leaned in so close that she could smell the minty air of his breath and the same complex scent that had filled his bed sheets. She blushed embarrassed that her own smell must not be as pleasant. His lips rested so close to hers that she could almost feel them and when he spoke they brushed against hers with every word.

"Your pulse is racing and your eyes have dilated. You licked your lips and your face has reddened. Your breathing hitched when I touched you. Would you still say I know nothing about romance?" He asked not moving from where he'd pressed up against her.

"You still haven't kissed me yet." She said her voice taking on a seductive note without her consent.

"Look across the street a taxi has stopped and no one is getting in or out of it." He said moving away from her to look at the possible murder suspect. The only thing that prevented John's head from hitting the table was the cooling plate of pasta. The most romantic moment of her entire life was just ruined by a taxi.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed even as a smug smile began to develop on his lips. "Oh a taxi that is clever. Why is it clever?" he asked himself sounding distracted.

She turned to look at the taxi her eyes narrowed as though it had conspired to rip her away from her romantic moment. "That's it."

"Don't Stare." Sherlock admonished her.

"Well you are staring." She said the venom in her voice directed more at the taxi cab than at Sherlock.

"We can't both stare." Sherlock snapped. He stood pulling on his coat as he moved to the door. She looked at the spot he had been then at the door then back at his spot. She cursed under her breath and pulled on her jacket as she slid out of the booth to chase after him. She ran out the door her cane forgotten in her rush to prevent her new husband from leaving her a widow on the first night of the marriage that she could remember.

Sherlock just barely dodged a car not seeming to care in the slightest that he ended up on the hood of a car! All he seemed to focus on as he continued to run was the taxi that was in motion. She chased after him hitting the hood and sliding a bit as she gave chase. He stopped a few feet behind him as the taxi rushed off and she was glad shed glared at it. Its plate number was now burned into her brain. "I've got the number."

"Good for you." Sherlock said as he crouched over his hands held out on the sides of his head hovering near it but not touching as they shook. He muttered under his breath words spilling out that she didn't understand though they sounded like road signs. He shot up and rushed off and she followed after him. He darted into a building and she apologized to the poor guy he nearly knocked over getting there even as she ran after him. They went up a set of stairs, then a spiral staircase, and sprinted over the rooftop Sherlock urging her to keep up with him every time it looked like she slowed down. They jumped from balcony to rooftop and took another spiral staircase this one on the outside of the building. When they reached the edge of the rooftop Sherlock took a flying leap from the rooftop they were on to the one right next to it over a very long drop. She stopped hesitating as she looked at the fall that would severely injure if not outright kill her.  
>"Come on John we're losing him!" Sherlock shouted.<p>

She shook her head cursing her stupidity even as she ran and jumped across the roof. She made it to the other side without falling and had to take off instantly as Sherlock began chasing after the cab again. They ran down more staircases and jumped out into a back alley where she chased after Sherlock. Where the alley met the street she saw the cab drive past them. "Oh no this way!"

She ran after him but must have gotten turned around because he shouted after her. "No this way."

"Sorry." She said even as she ran to catch up. They kept running and she felt that burn that only happened when she exerted herself. She was about to say 'give up we've lost them' when Sherlock jumped in front of the taxi they were chasing and pounded on the hood saying that he was the police open the car.

"Open her up." He said panting heavily as he pulled open the back door. He looked at the passenger and the noise he let escape him told her all she needed to know about the man's involvement.

"No." He heaved out with heavy breaths. "Teeth tan what Californian. From LA Santa Monica." He sucked in a breath through his teeth. " Just arrived."

"How could you possibly know that?" She asked him with a voice weak from her sudden workout as she panted and tried in vain to suck in enough oxygen to slow her racing heart.

"The luggage." He said gesturing at the baggage at the man's feet. "Probably your first trip to London going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you."

"Are you the police?" The man asked looking confused.

"Yeah." Sherlock said confidently flashing an official looking badge. "Is everything alright with you?"

"Yeah." The man said nodding his head.

"Welcome to London." Sherlock said with a smile.

"Any problems you can call the Yard." John said as she closed the cab door.

She walked over to where Sherlock was standing still out of breath. "It was just a cab that slowed down."

"It would seem so." Sherlock said walking in a circle.

"He's not the murderer then." She said even though it was obvious feeling that it needed to be said somehow.

Sherlock shook his head. "Not the murderer, no."

"He wasn't in the country that's a good alibi." She looked at the badge reaching to take it from his hands. "What is this?"

She looked at it and recognized the name and picture. "Detective Inspector Lestrade, why do you have this? How did you even get it?"

"Old habits die hard." Sherlock said casually. "I pickpocket people when they're annoying. You can keep that if you want it I've got plenty of them at the flat."

She started laughing.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"Nothing. It's just... Welcome to London." She laughed even harder and Sherlock sniggered.

He looked over and saw the man that had chased down talking to a real street officer. Sherlock nudged her and she looked just in time to see the man pointing at them.

"Have you got your breath back?" He asked.

"Ready when you are." She said as they took off.

_Thank yous to everyone, who read, reviewed, followed, and/or favorited. I said I wasn't going to update on a schedule anymore and what do I do I upload the next chapter on Friday right on the schedule I no longer have. But hey it's a new chapter._


	6. Chapter 6

_I do not own this show at all. Now that that is out of the way please enjoy the story._

John and Sherlock stumbled into the flat shedding their coats as they heaved in great breaths that didn't fill their lungs enough to make up for the oxygen they'd spent. They fell back against the wall with wide smiles and heaving breaths as they winded down from their run across the city. They stood side by side just taking a moment to get back their breath smiling at each other like idiots. They rested their hands on their knees as they took deep breaths.

"That was ridiculous." John said her voice strained with the effort of forming words with no air. "Probably the most ridiculous thing I've ever done."

Sherlock smiled as though at his own secret joke before looking at her and smirking. "And you invaded Afghanistan."

Wheezing giggles in a high pitched breathless squeak and a breezy baritone filled the stairwell. John smiled ignoring the fact that everything was hurting, every muscle burning in a pleasant way that she hadn't felt since the war. "Yeah I'll give you that but that wasn't just me."

She frowned looking from Sherlock back toward the door with curiosity. "Why aren't we back at the restaurant don't we have to wait for the real murderer to show up?"

"They can keep an eye out for us." Sherlock waved his hand dismissively his voice strong even though he was winded. His head fell back against the wall and his voice took on a tone that was resigned. "It was a long shot anyway."

John tilted her head to look at him almost straining her neck her hands on her knees to make it easier to breath. "So what were we doing there if it wasn't going to help us any?"

He cleared his throat the noise sounding funny as he had yet to get back his breath. "Oh just passing the time." His tone deepened turning serious. "And proving a point."

"What point?" John asked looking up at him from under her brows.

He took in a shallow breath and looked pointedly at her. "You."

"What do you mean me?" She asked her voice getting steadier even as her lips twisted in a subtle smirk.

He smirked in return his lips twisting up on one side with pride and a subtle nod. "Why don't you ask the man at the door?"

She looked at him like their run through the streets had somehow loosened a screw or two in his head. But almost instantly after he'd said it there were three knocks on the door. Sherlock grinned as she looked at the door then back at him awe on her face. She walked toward the door and opened it recognizing the portly figure standing there instantly as Angelo from the restaurant.

He smiled at her holding something at his side. "Sherlock texted me." He said as she looked at him stunned. He held out her cane with a smile that was quickly dissolving into amused laughter. "He said that you forgot this."

She reached out to grab it with shaking hands scarcely believing it even as her hands circled around slightly warm metal as she took it from him. She spent the next few seconds just looking down at it in disbelief before she remembered herself and managed to sputter out. "Uh thank you." Exhilaration grew in her voice and the thanks grew more sincere. "Thank you."

She walked back into the flat closing the door behind her still dazed as she looked at the cane in her hands. She looked up at Sherlock so many words ready to run out of her mouth but nothing came out. Instead she stood there door ajar and face frozen in a look of shock and wonder. She probably would have stayed like that for hours just awestruck as she looked at the cane that she'd hated so much for what it represented how much she lost if Mrs. Hudson hadn't walked up to them with a scared look on her face.

"Sherlock what have you done?" she asked sounding on the edge of tears.

Sherlock looked at her blankly for a moment before he said. "Mrs. Hudson what's wrong?"

She pointed at the stairs. "Upstairs."

He looked at John before rushing up the stairs and she chased after him her leg not bothering her at all as she ran up what would have been a nightmare just this morning. She stopped at the door as Sherlock stormed in to stop in front of Lestrade. John was surprised to see that there were men rooting through the flat, turning things over, and making the clutter into a true mess full of potential dangers that made the doctor in her wince. She looked from side to side as the flat was overtaken and going from the presence of the Detective Inspector they were policemen.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock yelled his pale face turning just a bit red in his anger.

Lestrade sat casually in the green chair that some part of John's brain had already labeled Sherlock's the pink case sat casually open beside him where Sherlock had left it. "Well I knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid even if you think I am."

"You can't just break into my flat." Sherlock snapped as John watched everyone search through the flat.

"Well you can't withhold evidence and we didn't break into your flat." Lestrade said calm in the face of Sherlock's looming temper.

"What do you call this then?" Sherlock said spreading his arms to gesture to the officers in the midst of ransacking his flat.

Lestrade looked from side to side the wheels spinning in his head as he looked for an answer. "It's a drugs bust." He said finally seeming happy with his answer.

Sherlock quickly looked back at John but she just raised her eyebrow and hoped he got the message that she was trying to send mainly, I already know and we will be talking about this later.

He turned back to Lestrade ."I'm not your sniffer dog."

"No Anderson's my sniffer dog." He said gesturing with a nod to the kitchen.

They turned and saw Anderson slide open the sliding glass door and give them a little wave with a smarmy smile.

"Anderson what are you doing on a drugs bust?" Sherlock shouted beginning loose his composure.

"Oh I volunteered." Anderson countered clearly enjoying the look of outrage on Sherlock's face.

"They're not strictly speaking on the drugs squad but they are very keen." Lestrade said gesticulating with his hand as he spoke.

"Are these human eyes?" Donavan asked as she walked out of the kitchen holding up a small glass container with a disgusted look on her face. That was shared by almost everyone else in the room save for John who was just standing there gawking at everything.

Sherlock gestured back toward the kitchen with his arm and said angrily. "Put those back."

"They were in the microwave." Sally said nodding her head as spoke as though to emphasize each word with motion.

"It's an experiment." Sherlock said before he took off beginning to pace, clearly not comfortable with so many people in his flat.

"Keep looking guys." Lestrade said egging them on hoping to get the reaction he wanted out of the detective he added. "Unless you want to start helping us properly and I'll tell them to stand down."

"This is childish." Sherlock hissed as he paced past Lestrade.

The DI stood his hands on his hips. "Well I'm dealing with a child. We are letting you help but this is our case. I'm letting you in but you can't just go off on your own without us. Clear?" he asked sounding like a parent that had been pushed too far one too many times.

Sherlock scoffed. "So, so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?"

"It stops being pretend if we find anything." Lestrade's voice deepened and he crossed his arms in warning.

"I am clean." Sherlock shouted brining his hands up to run through his hair.

"Is your flat." Lestrade asked his tone serious enough to show that he wasn't playing around. "All of it?"

"I don't even smoke." Sherlock said as he rolled up his sleeve to reveal a flesh tone nicotine patch.

"Well neither do I." Lestrade said as he rolled up his sleeve to reveal a matching flesh tone patch on his forearm. He rolled his sleeve down. "So let's work together." He said sounding weary and John got the impression that he often sounded like that when he dealt with Sherlock.

"We found Rachel." He said now that Sherlock had come down from his initial anger.

He could practically see the fire being lit in Sherlock's eyes as the consulting detective asked. "Who is she?"

Lestrade calmed his voice not wanting to set Sherlock off again even though he knew that he would inevitably be angered or frustrated either by the case or by someone else in the flat. "She was Jennifer Wilson's only daughter."

"Her daughter?" Sherlock's face scrunched in confusion. "Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?" he said and the confusion was evident on his face.

"Never mind that we found the case. According to someone the murderer has the case and we found it in the hands of our favorite psychopath." Anderson sneered as he gestured to the case that as sitting on the chair.

"I'm not a psychopath Anderson I'm a high functioning sociopath. Do your research." Sherlock spat disgusted with Andersons ignorance. He didn't linger on the disgust instead he whirled on Lestrade barging forward. "We need to bring Rachel in, we need to question her. I need to question her."

"She's dead." Lestrade said cutting off Sherlock.

"Excellent how, when and why? Is there a connection? There has to be." Sherlock said quickly his hands moving like visual punctuation.

Lestrade sighed digging deep into his patience he replied. "Well I doubt it since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter fourteen years ago."

Sherlock stopped for just a moment as he began to gather his thoughts. "Oh, that's, not right? How? Why would she do that? Why?"

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yep sociopath I'm seeing it now." Anderson said acerbically.

"She didn't think about her daughter." Sherlock retorted angrily. "She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort. It would have hurt."

John looked at Sherlock an idea nagging at the back of her mind that she thought was plausible. "You said that the victims all took the poison themselves that he makes them take it. Well maybe he, I don't know, talks to them. Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow?"

"But that was ages ago why would she still be upset?" Sherlock exclaimed and the room fell silent. He looked around the room and then at John knowing by the silence that he had once again offended someone, well everyone. "Not good?"

"A bit not good, yeah." John said meekly under the combined gaze of the police and Sherlock.

"If you were dying if you'd been murdered in your very last moment what would you say?" he implored pressing for answers.

"Please God let me live." She said without any of the fervor that Sherlock was showing.

"Use your imagination!" He snapped though not as harshly as he did at the police.

"I don't have to." She said softly feeling those words like a blow. Sherlock blinked at her twice and she knew that he'd seen something there that he hadn't before but now as not the time to press for any answers. Whoever killed Jennifer Wilson was still out there and the police were digging around their flat.

"Yeah but if you were clever really clever, Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers she was clever. She's trying to tell us something." Sherlock said pacing again as though he was winding up his brain with the motion.

"I think this might be from the case." One of the officers said as he exited Sherlock's room holding up a familiar looking pink and black lace bra effectively breaking the mood. He handed it to Lestrade who looked at it as though the frilly lace and silk might bite him. John dropped her head into her hand silently promising herself that she would find the person who had decided to give her that black and pink nightmare and make their life miserable maybe by pointing Sherlock in their direction.

"Sherlock this is disturbing. I knew you were a freak but I didn't think you were a pervert. Did you steal it from the case because it was interesting?" Anderson sneered as he gestured at the bra.

"Lestrade, why is one of your underlings parading around with John's underwear?" Sherlock shouted angrily before he turned to John his voice much calmer. "Would you like me to dissolve it in acid for you? I have a fascinating theory from an earlier case that I've been dying to try."

John's face turned bright red as she looked at the bra with anxious disgust. "Yeah, you do that."

"Oh God you weren't lying." Sally said her face turning pale as she looked between the two of them. "But you're a Freak! Is she a Freak too? Is that it?" She pointed at John with disgust.

"What are you blathering on about?" Sherlock snapped.

"About you two being married." Sally said incredulously.

"Of course we're married why else would we be wearing matching wedding rings." Sherlock scoffed as he held up his left hand and wiggled his fingers to show off the silver band and every eye in the room turned to look at John and Sherlock like they were some circus sideshow. Most of the eyes were darting between her and Sherlock flicking between their fingers and their faces. John held up her hand to show off the ring just to see if they would really believe it.

Lestrade was the one to break the silence gesturing between the two of them. "Sherlock is this for a case?"

_Needless to say this took much longer than anticipated so thank you for your patience. I do not plan on stopping Waking Up on Baker Street until we reach the end of series so I will be doing every episode. To all my American readers Happy Thanksgiving. Thank yous to everyone, who read, reviewed, followed, and/or favorited._


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